Dragoncrest Cliffs i give myself v good advice but v seldom follow it (sits on a rock & cries)

good morning folks this is s1 e2 of the Soft Series
ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ᴀʟᴏɴɢ: early 3rd
Setting  Hougeda, DCC
Time  Midmorning. Some days after Elysium’s festivaly
i swear this started off as a regular AW thread but then i got a bitchin headache & forgot my tea twice so we goin private lmao. @Vercingetorix ♡

Earlier in the morning, Aure had been roused from a sonorous, dreamless slumber by the faraway haunt of the cavern’s falls. The sound, only half-frozen for winter, gently heralded her to waking point; and as much as she wanted to grumble back to sleep, she couldn’t. The dull, persistent ache had settled resolutely in her cheekbones and brow, grousing behind her eyes. And then the congestion came, and then the ill tears arrived; and her tongue tasted bitter and stale, and Aure knew sleep wouldn’t come to her within, oh, what? A century, now? Ugh. Leggo, I guess.

She supposed she should be thankful, since the morning sickness had taken its leave. All of this sniffling had to have been brought on by stress, her pregnancy, or winter, so she’d tried to sequester herself from as many kru as she may be kept from today. When Aure counted her hundredth sniffle as a film of tears limned her lashes, she finally concluded that she was—sick. With a cold, most surely, because her throat felt so wrought, so raw, despite all that phlegm, as if something had clawed it all up from the inside.

Either way, the skayona hobbled herself out her little quarantine within licheny Hougeda, and arrowed for the cavern’s pond; regardless of the incessant little shivers that wracked her ivory frame. Regardless still of the little, intermittent cough that now leapt from her withering throat, she knew she needed water, and she took her fill of it where couldn’t with herbs. The past hour had weakened her, so much so that an everyday, effortless thing as drinking water left her petulantly exhausted (embarrassing tbch).

Aure then reclined — with all the grace a sick mother-to-be meant to possess — into a sit, hocks all pigeon-toed to accommodate for a bump that’d finally arrived. A bump which she now scrunched her nose and blinked sleepily at; the teats peeking through thinning, pale fur. ”Sunt o mamă atât de oribilă, atât de rău. Nu ar trebui să vă cer iertarea,” her porcelain face and pout the epitome of slumberous shame. ”Dar te rog să mă ierți, copiii mei. Vă rog?“

Scarred lips remained parted, and she remained seated even as her watery eyes pressed closed. With one more congested, achy little sniff, Aure promptly fell asleep at the pond’s edge without an inkling of consequence. Nodding off here, entirely unexpected of even Aure, was a bit Narcissistic, really — if Narcissus was pregnant, held so much aversion to his own enduring fairness, and had been more heart-and-humble.